


Succession

by Million_Moments



Series: Succession [1]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Gen, Humor, Meet the Family, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Royal Saint Marie Police Service lives up to it's name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> I was wandering around York when this idea occurred to me. Technically there is nothing to say this fic couldn’t take place in the actual Death in Paradise universe, but I think you’ll quickly see this is a little ridiculous. It’s meant to be a bit of fun really!
> 
> I'd like to thank Maddiestj who not only provided me with a beta for the fic, but made some changes that vastly improved it!

Whenever the Commissioner walked into the station, or caught Richard out on the street, it was always to tell him something that wasn’t going to make his life any easier. The man had an agenda, admittedly quite noble ones in the form of protecting both the economy of the island and the funding of its police force, but an agenda nevertheless.

Today, when the Commissioner idly entered the station as if he wasn’t here to drop a bombshell, Richard had even more reason to dread whatever announcement he would be making. He’d spoken to his parents this morning ( _very early_ this morning, they’d forgotten the time difference with their excitement) and felt the plans that he’d made might just be about to be ruined.

“Good morning Team,” he began with his usual greeting. “I have good news!”

Everyone had stood when the Commissioner entered, and now waited patiently for him to expound on his comment. When he wasn’t immediately forthcoming, instead taking a moment to study the latest wanted posters, Richard decided to prompt him.

“Sir?” he tried, managing to draw the Commissioner’s attention back to the team.

“Yes, it seems we are going to have some very important visitors to Saint Marie. The Duke and Duchess of Grafton are coming for a vacation, but will also be performing a few official duties whilst here – a ceremonial opening of the new laboratory at the hospital being one.”

“A Duke and a Duchess!” Fidel said brightly, apparently rather excited by the idea of royalty visiting the island.

“Yes. Now, obviously we, The Royal Saint Marie Police Service, do have a duty of care to these individuals, and will have to ensure their security. It would hardly be good for the island’s reputation if anything untoward were to happen to Their Graces whilst they were here.”

Camille gave Richard a sidelong glance. She intended to give him a look to convey he should not start ranting as she expected him to. She knew pandering to some royal visitors was exactly the sort of thing that would set him off on a tirade. However she was very surprised to find he looked rather resigned to the visit. Perhaps he was learning there was not much point in arguing with the Commissioner.

“They’ll require escorts for their official engagements?” The Inspector asked.

“That sounds like a savvy idea, Inspector. I hope you will be willing to spare the staff for this?” He may have posed it as a question, but everyone knew it was an order.

“Of course, Sir. I’ll organise it personally.”

“Thank you, Inspector. Goodbye, Team.”

The second the Commissioner was clear of the station Richard sat down heavily on his chair and put his head in his hands. Camille’s curiosity was piqued, she knew something bigger was clearly going on. She went and placed both hands on his desk, leaning forward and waiting for him to look up and acknowledge her.

Eventually he did just that. “What?”

“You tell me! It’s unusual for you to just acquiesce like that. Or are you a secret Monarchist?” She immediately dismissed her own suggestion. “No you weren’t happy about it. Hang on. Let me try this again. You went to boarding school, right? Did you go to school with one of them? Or with one of their children? Were they very mean to you?”

“For God’s sake! Why does there have to be something more going on here? It’s perfectly logical that royalty would require at least some security whilst here. Why would I argue about that?”

“Come on, Chief! You aren’t even having a little moan now about it. That is off!” Dwayne was being bloody cheeky, but he was right. Camille just raised her eyebrows to indicate she was still waiting for an answer. Richard sighed. He thought about his last post; how nobody there would have known him well enough to even remotely pick up on such details. This made him feel rather conflicted, as he was rather annoyed with them for pushing the issue, but oddly touched that they did know him well enough to know there was an issue in the first place.

He sighed, “I suppose you’re going to find out anyway. I do know them…because they’re my parents.”

The silence was palpable, and eventually broken by Fidel, “You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was,” he said ruefully.

Dwayne was standing open mouthed, torn between saluting and checking to see if the Inspector had developed heat stroke.

“But, but, you can’t be the son of a Duke. I mean, you told me you used to take family holidays in a caravan. Dukes don’t go on holidays in caravans!” Camille protested.

Richard rolled his eyes, “You really don’t know much about the aristocracy, Camille. Plenty of them are eccentric enough to insist on taking holidays in caravans. Besides, I didn’t actually grow up the son of a Duke. My father was the second born, but my Uncle Peter died when I was twenty, without issue.”

“He didn’t have an issue with dying?” Dwayne asked, perplexed.

“No, died without issue, it’s the technical term for having had no children. When he died the title went to my Dad,” Richard explained impatiently.

All three officers were staring at him, which didn’t exactly make him feel comfortable.  Sighing, he continued in an effort to fill the stunned silence. “I spoke to them earlier, but they didn’t tell me they were coming ‘officially’.”

“Do you have a title, Sir?” Fidel asked curiously which earned him a glare for his question.

“Yes! Detective Inspector. Something I expected you to know, Fidel,” he responded bitterly.

Camille shot Fidel a reassuring look, and decided to pursue the matter herself because it was just too much damn fun winding Richard up like this. “Ah, okay, but do you have another title?  You know, one due to you because of your father?”

He let out a long breath, “Technically, I am the Earl of Euston, but I have never used it in my entire life and have no intension of starting now.”

“You’re an Earl!” Her voice squeaked, and she was a little embarrassed by her own girly excitement. “And one day you’ll be a Duke, right?”

“If I can’t think of any way to get out of it.”

“Will we get to meet them?”

Richard considered trying to convince Camille it wasn’t something she’d enjoy, but he was pretty sure he’d fail and get yelled at in the process so he might as well resign himself to it happening now. “If you want to.”

“How do we address them, Sir?” Fidel, God bless him, actually had his notebook out. Dwayne shot him a look full of derision, but the younger officer ignored it pencil poised for Richard’s answer.

“It’s Duke or Your Grace for my Father, and Duchess or Madam. Technically it should also be Your Grace as well but Mum doesn’t like it.”

“You’re Mum has the title Duchess just from being married to your Father, right?” Camille asked.

“Yes, born a commoner as they say.”

“Then I could be a Duchess,” she said rather dreamily, though it only took a second to realise her slip.

“Good God! Are you planning on seducing my Father to gain a title?” Richard huffed out loudly.

Fidel and Dwayne shared a smirk at both Camille’s slip and their boss’ denseness. Camille found herself in a unique predicament: being thought of as the sort of woman who would seduce an older man for his title or denying she had any intention of doing so and risk Richard actually figuring out that, in a moment of complete weakness and craziness, she’d imagined herself married to him.

“I was only joking!” She said eventually, though the pause between the accusation and her response was suspiciously long.

“All right then. Can we put the matter to rest for now? Get on with some actual police work?”

Camille looked disappointed but went back to her desk. Dwayne pretended to work at his computer, but all he’d actually done was google the Duke of Grafton. Fidel was busy checking on his computer the official form of address for an Earl…just in case he ever did need it.

 

* * *

 

The issue did not remain dropped. Throughout the afternoon, he continued to field questions from his team concerning his family.

Dwayne had looked like he was hard at work, but only five minutes had lapsed after the original conversation ended when he let out a low whistle and called across the room. “Chief, will you inherit this massive house?”

“What? Euston Hall?” Richard asked for confirmation.

Camille and Fidel joined Dwayne at his desk as he scrolled through Google images, with Camille making enough admiring comments that Richard began to seriously wonder if his father was safe from her after all.

“I haven’t actually asked them the contents of their will,” he said shortly, even though he knew he would be left the place.

“If enough of the Royal Family died, would you become the king?” Camille had asked half an hour later.

“A hell of a lot of people would have to die for that to happen. Do you need some work to do?”

“Just asking!” she said defensively. “Have you ever met the Queen?”

“No!” he said. “Oh, wait, yes, but I was two at the time and I don’t remember anything. We were visiting Uncle Peter and I think she was at Sadringham and came round for tea. You’d have to ask my mother for details.”

And still the interrogation continued.

Did you get invited to Will and Kate’s wedding?

Do you have a family crest?

Does an Earl have an official outfit?

How many bedrooms does Euston Hall have?

Have you ever used the title to get out of trouble?

Do your parents have an issue with you not having issue?

The last one pushed him past his limits and he ended up shouting. “NO MORE BLOODY QUESTIONS UNLESS IT PERTAINS TO POLICE WORK!!! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir” followed.

Then Dwayne added boldly, “You know Chief, you should spread this whole ‘I’m an Earl’ thing around. I bet you could get a lot of attention from the ladies.”

Richard put his head in his hands and groaned.


	2. Republicanism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a good chance that I used all my best jokes in Chapter one...

By the end of the day, Richard wanted two things very badly. The first was a decent cup of tea, and the second was to be alone and away from the excited chittering and joking of his team. Unfortunately, he couldn’t have both at the same time. Despite the application of several different water filters, use of various brands of tea and all possible combinations of the above, he had never actually been able to produce a cup of tea at home that didn’t faintly taste of puddle water. The desire for tea won out, and he shook his head at how much of a cliché he could be sometimes as he followed his jocular team into Catherine’s bar.

Catherine came over smiling broadly, did that woman have an unlimited supply of cheerfulness? “What’s all the excitement about, did make some _thrilling_ arrest today?”

“No, guess what _Maman,”_ the pause caused by Camille taking a breath didn’t really allow much of a chance for Catherine to actually make a guess. She apparently knew her daughter well enough not to even attempt to try, as she’d just raised an eyebrow. “The Duke and Duchess of Grafton are coming, but wait, because that’s not all…”

Catherine, however, took away Camille’s chance at a big reveal (much to Richard’s secret amusement) by interrupting her daughter with a huff, “Camille! Why would you be excited about such a thing? People should earn their place in the world, not be afforded respect just because of the circumstances of their birth. I suppose you’ll have to run around all week protecting them, instead of serving the community that you were actually raised in!”

It was a tirade worthy of any of his rants, and Richard had to admit to himself actually rather admired her convictions. He raised his teacup in her direction and said probably the last thing anyone expected of him, “ _Liberté, égalité, fraternité.”_

Catherine only let her own shock show for a moment, before flashing him a pleased smile and turning back to her daughter, “See, Richard understands what a waste of police time this visit will be”

“ _Maman,_ I had no idea you were such a republican!” Camille cried out.

Before Catherine could start another rant, and to save Camille further mortification (he tried to pretend he didn’t find it endearing she was acting so offended on his behalf), Richard interrupted, “In other news, my parents are coming for a visit and I wondered if, since you do make the only decent cup of tea on the island, I couldn’t bring them around to visit? That wouldn’t be a problem would it?”

“Oh how wonderful!” She cried. “Of course you should bring them here, why on earth would it be a problem?”

“Well it’s just they are the Duke and Duchess of Grafton.”

Catherine looked a little shamefaced, but Richard thought it did her credit that she didn’t actually apologise. Given the number of French insults he’d generally let slip, he didn’t really deserve an apology anyway. Fidel and Dwayne were grinning into their beers and Camille looked resigned, probably expecting a fight to follow, but it wouldn’t. At least, he didn’t have any _intention_ of causing a fight…

“So you’re the son of a Duke? What does that make you?” Catherine asked, tone on-the-whole polite.

Fidel piped up, “He’s the Earl of Euston! So really we should be calling him Inspector Lord Poole, or is it Lord Inspector Pool…” Fidel looked genuinely dismayed he didn’t know the answer.

“Call me either and you’re fired,” Richard said firmly and with a glare that actually caused Fidel to cower like a new recruit.

“It actually makes a lot of sense,” Catherine said thoughtfully.

“In what way does it make sense?”

“Well, sometimes you’re so…” She hesitated. “Hmm, what is the word in English?”

“Pompous? Arrogant? Pretentious?” These vocabulary suggestions were all made by Camille.

“Sure you want to stop there?” he bit out sarcastically. “Should I maybe fetch the thesaurus in case you’ve missed any descriptors?”

She just gave him a look, and it was apparently his turn to feel like a new recruit.

“I was going to say reserved,” Catherine told him kindly, but he knew that probably wasn’t true. “I think this little revelation has made me like you more, Richard. I mean you could be prancing around the Island insisting everyone calls you Earl of Eustace…”

“Euston,” he muttered, not because he cared about his title but because he like accuracy.

“Earl of _Euston_ ,” Catherine said with exaggerated formality. “But instead you have a proper career. You’re a useful member of society, earning respect through hard work!”

Richard knew it was intended as a compliment, but he couldn’t help a little dig, “Are you saying my father _prances_? _”_

This time Catherine looked embarrassed, “Perhaps I judged them a little harshly. They are welcome here as your parents, irrespective of their titles.”

“Thank you, Catherine.”

“When are they coming anyway?” Dwayne asked. He’d spent the afternoon trying to think of ways to use his knew found royal connections to his advantage, and was keen to know how much time he had to prepare.

“In two weeks, I think they’re staying ten days.”

“So they’ll be here for your birthday, Sir!” Fidel said brightly.

“Oh _good_ , you remembered. I was _so_ hoping you would.” You didn’t need to be a detective to notice the sarcasm in his tone.

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t leave as soon as he finished his tea. Camille was certain he’d scarper, desperate to be away from the attention gained from his recently discovered aristocratic roots. He looked almost surprised he was still there. He and Dwayne, in a rare display of co-operative mischievousness, wound Fidel up about proper behaviour in the presence of a Duke and Duchess until the poor officer was nearly frantic with worry. Camille decided they’d taken the joke too far when Dwayne mentioned he’d read about how Dukes could dispense corporal punishment for using the incorrect style of address. She kicked Richard hard under the table.

“Ow!” He protested. “What was that for?” He asked, as if he didn’t know. He eventually broke under her stare and reassured Fidel he was only joking.

Fidel was clearly put out he’d fallen for it, but his righteous sulking rapidly came to an end when, for the second time that day, they all jumped to their feet when the Commissioner entered the bar.

“Please, be seated, Inspector can I have a word?”

Camille shot him a sympathetic look, she had a good idea what this would be about.

 

* * *

 

He knew he should have just finished his tea and gone home, then perhaps he would have been able to put off this sure to be delightful conversation with the Commissioner for another day. Maybe reciting the French national motto had interfered with his thinking processes, and he’d gotten a little caught up in the ‘ _fraternité’_ when he might have been better off seeking ‘ _liberté’._

“I decided to call the Duke and Duchess personally to discuss their security needs, and I was left with the strong impression that the fact you share a surname with their Graces may not be a coincidence.”

Had he ever really expected to keep it from the man? “That’s correct Sir, they are my parents. I should have mentioned it earlier, but I assure you I am perfectly able to assess their security from an unbiased viewpoint, it is not the first time I have had to do so during my police career, Sir.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can Inspector, I would not insult you by implying otherwise. We shall overlook the fact you failed the mention the matter for now. You see it really is rather an advantage for us at Government House to have you on Saint Marie, as you will be able to help us with more than just the security planning. I’m sure you are very familiar with your parent’s tastes and interests, so your advice will be requested in these matters as well. Any urgent police work should, of course, come first.”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, resigned to his fate.

 

* * *

 

In the space of two weeks he attended seven security meetings, five of which he was sure were surplus to requirements. He had to go to ten, count them, ten further conferences at Government house concerning the general arrangements for his parent’s visit. In the space of two days he had been forced to visit five different catering companies (with Dwayne always enthusiastically offering to come with him), all of which had offered him sea food that stared back.

At some point during the first week – perhaps when he was attending what was innocently called a ‘bunting consultation’ when they actually meant ‘afternoon in a stifling hot office looking a small triangles of cloth whilst you consider how best to use them to make a noose’ – he’d begun to pray for a crime wave. He’d scanned crime alerts from the other islands longingly for any signs of trouble heading their way. He’d found himself staring at the newspaper, wondering if he could conduct a threatening enough letter that the whole visit would be cancelled. Somehow Camille had picked up on his thoughts and whipped the newspaper away, before offering to give him a lift to the orphanage so he could instruct the Nuns on acceptable topics of conversation.

“Come on Richard, it’s nearly over. They’ll be here tomorrow!” She attempted to rally him on the drive over.

Nearly over? Dear God, it was only just beginning. 


	3. Retinue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone reading “that which we have not thought deeply about”, I will not be using the character I developed for Richard’s mother in that story. The Duchess of Grafton is rather different. I think this story is going to be more of a romance than I actually intended as well.

The Commissioner was all for a grand welcoming at the airport as soon as his parents landed. Given the lateness of their arrival, and the fact that Richard knew his mother would really rather not be photographed after an eight hour flight, he convinced the Commissioner that perhaps he could save the official introductions until the next day. Of course he wasn’t just thinking of his slightly camera shy mother, it also meant that when his parents found him in arrivals and his mother threw her arms around him, there were no witnesses.

He dropped them off at the hotel, with the very latest schedule of their official events and a promise that yes, he would of course be accompanying them to the hospital the next day barring any major crime incidents.

 

* * *

 

 

He had to call in the station first, to pick up Camille and check to make sure there actually weren’t any crimes. He was surprised to find Camille in what she generally wore to court – one of those dresses that are tailored like suits (did they have a proper name? Did he care enough about woman’s fashion to need to know?) and a jacket. He had a brief panic.

“Do you have to testify, today?” He asked, a little taken aback by how desperately he hoped she didn’t.  

“No,” she said, seemingly perplexed by his question.

“Why are you wearing that?” He asked. This was clearly not what he was supposed to say.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked sharply.

“Nothing!” He quickly tried to assure her, since she looked like she might throw the nearest heavy object at him. “You just normally only wear it for court.”

She visibly relaxed, and he stopped scanning the room for potential weapons, “Well I read you aren’t supposed to have bare arms in front of royalty and my options were limited.”

“Well I don’t think my father would faint at the site of your shoulders but perhaps we are better off playing it safe.”

* * *

 

In a small conference room just off the hotel lobby, they literally lined them all up like Camille had seen on the television when people met the queen. The entire retinue who would accompany them on various engagements throughout their stay was there, minus Dwayne because somebody had to actual man the station. He’d pretended indifference, though Camille knew he was desperate to see what Richard’s parents were like, but he’d seen how excited Fidel was and had let the younger officer go.

Richard had left her down here ten minutes ago to go fetch his parents – though he was briefly waylaid at the door by the hotel manager who was desperate to know if the amount of bunting was sufficient. Suspecting it was probably better that the Inspector didn’t start the day in a murderous mood, Camille had intervened and dragged the manager off whilst she made admiring comments. She didn’t miss the grateful look he shot her as he escaped out of the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard got the introductions out of the way as quickly as possible. His father’s memory for names was pretty amazing, a skill he had to develop when he was in the diplomatic service. His mother hardly ever called anyone by their name anyway – usually just remembering their title/salutation or reverting to “dear” when she couldn’t even remember that. Being a Duchess seemed to let her get away with it. He could have sworn when introducing Camille his mother paid far more attention than she had with anyone else, but decided he was being paranoid.

 

* * *

 

How did Richard wear that damn jacket all day? And not just him, if Richard and the Duke of Grafton were anything to go by it would appear fashion sense was hereditary. Actually, his father was wearing a three piece suit, so must be literally boiling. Unfortunately for her, she’d been left outside of the hospital – with its very tempting air conditioning – and was stationed in the hospitals gardens where the Duke and Duchess would be exiting. This meant she was both _hot_ and _bored_ and rapidly understanding why Richard got so irate when they lacked a case. The Inspector had shot her an apologetic when she was given her orders, something she appreciated as it was nice to know he thought she was above guard duty.

A rustling noise behind her caused her to whip round, but rather than a potential assassin she found a young boy in a hospital gown staring at her with wide eyes from the doorway.

“Hi,” she smiled kindly at him. “Are you allowed out here on your own?”

“As long as I don’t go off the porch,” he told her defensively.

“Ok then,” she felt sorry for him. He looked about six, boys his age should be running around on the beach not stuck in hospital rooms with only expeditions to a porch to break up the day and get some fresh air.

Once he had settled himself down on a bench, Camille introduced herself and asked if she might sit with him, “What’s your name?” she asked as she settled down next to him.

“Solomon,” he seemed to have turned rather shy on her, which only made her heart melt. She wondered if her mother would be okay with a grandchild kidnapped from the hospital. Who was she kidding, of course she wouldn’t care. The other day her mother had informed her that obviously she didn’t _want_ Camille to go to a sperm bank, but if that was how she choose to have a baby she wouldn’t disown her. Catherine had clearly given up on the idea of her daughter “settling down”, and was making a last ditch attempt to get grandchildren anyway she could. Camille had come back from the bar and talking to her mother to find Richard sitting on the patio, she’d begun to complain to him about it but was forced to change the topic when he choked on his tea at the words ‘sperm bank’.

“What do you like doing, Solomon?” She asked, trying to initiate conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I like going to the beach and dancing and swimming,” she was being given a look that clearly communicated the fact Solomon couldn’t exactly do any of those things in his current condition. Ok, try again. “I have a friend who likes reading and, um, talking to his lizard…” she finished uncertainly.

“I like stories,” Solomon said brightly. “I have some books, and sometimes I make stories up and tell them to the nurses and other people.”

Camille gave him an exaggerated thoughtful look before saying, “Well, I have to be here for a little while yet, maybe we could make up a story together. How about one with a Duke and a Duchess…”

 

* * *

 

As they moved towards the hospital gardens, Richard could hear Camille laughing with the sort of adulterated joy he lov- was quite fond- that he didn’t mind hearing occasionally. He was perplexed as to what she could have found out there that was so amusing. He had sudden images of her being chatted up by some handsome Doctor on his coffee break, come to entertain her as she was stuck doing something well below her own abilities. All of a sudden it wasn’t a fanciful notion, he was _convinced_ that it must be the case. He was going to have to have a word with her, she couldn’t just flirt with doctors when she was supposed to be on _duty._

He hurried out the door ahead of his parents to drag her to the side and tell her exactly that, and felt like a bit of a prat when he realised that the object of Camille’s affections was in fact a small child, clearly a patient, rather than a tall, handsome doctor. She hadn’t noticed his arrival, so engrossed in some made up world she and the child seemed to be inhabiting at that moment, and he found he had no desire to disturb her. Unfortunately he could hardly divert his parents and their entire retinue just so Camille and the boy could finish their story, and soon the small babbling crowd were all out on the porch. Camille leapt up, caught putting on the most ridiculous accent, and looked embarrassed. She looked to him, and he wasn’t sure what she wanted, so he tried to smile reassuringly.

They were supposed to be taking photographs, and already somebody from Government house was trying to gather people on the lawn. He was trying to get his mother’s attention, but she brushed him off with ‘just a minute, dear’ before walking up to Camille and the boy – who looked more than a little terrified.

“Detective Sergeant Bordey, if it isn’t too much trouble perhaps you could introduce me to your young friend here?”

Camille relaxed and smiled, “Of course, Madam. This is Solomon. Solomon, this is the Duchess of Grafton.”

Solomon looked like he couldn’t believe his luck, “Are you a _real_ Duchess?”

“I am,” his mother replied kindly. She held out a hand to prompt him, and after staring at it in amazement for a few moments he took it shyly and kissed her wedding ring.

His mother was forced to stifle a giggle, for fear she would embarrass the child, but she had only meant for him to shake it, “Well aren’t you a polite young man! Where did you learn that, Solomon?”

“It was in a book about etati- etiti- etikick?”

“Etiquette,” Camille supplied in a whisper.

“It was in a book about etiquette,” Solomon tried again, this time with far greater confidence. “One of the nurses read it to me, it had quite a lot of long words…”

“When my son was your age he preferred books about spies and adventures,” she told Solomon conversationally.

“So do I, and ones about dinosaurs, but I read all those books in the library. It doesn’t have that many,” he told her sadly. “So I make up my own stories. Camille was helping me. Do you want me to make up a story for you?”

“I wish I had time, my darling. But unfortunately I’m very busy today. You see that grumpy looking man? That’s the Duke of Grafton and he’s waiting for me! But I will try and come back and see you later in the week, ok?”

And with a pat on his head, his mother hurried onto the lawn for the photographs. Camille was saying goodbye the child, who was being fetched by a nurse who was now being treated to the tale of how he met a Duchess.

“That was really nice of your mum, I think she made his day,” Camille told him.

“Yes, she’s a people person. Something I’m sure you can surmise I did not inherit.”

 

* * *

 

Camille was _very_ happy when she could go home, shower, and put on something far more suited to the weather conditions on Saint Marie. It had been surprisingly tiring, traipsing about all day, and she was glad that she would only be providing cover for a few of the official engagements. She was hidden somewhere towards the back of her mother’s bar, feet up on another chair and beer in hand. She was expecting Dwayne and Fidel to appear shortly, though she imagined Richard would spend the evening with his parents.

“Now then, my dear, you must be so much more comfortable now you’re suitably attired for the weather. I don’t know how you walked around in that jacket all day!” She was startled to her feet by the arrival of the Duchess of Grafton. She pulled at the strap of her top nervously with one hand and hid her beer behind her back with the other. She was a little surprised by how much she cared what this woman thought about her.

Richard’s mother shook her head tenderly, “Oh no, dear, you are off duty – and for all intents and purposes so am I. No need to act like I’m a Duchess now. My son is showing my husband the station, he has an interest in that sort of thing, but I thought I might just come here and wait for them. Do you mind if I join you?”

She shook her head, but she knew she couldn’t just stay silent until Richard arrived. “Did you have a nice day?” she tried.

“Lovely, thank you dear. Though I do think the highlight was meeting the young man you introduced me too.”

“He’s a very sweet boy,” Camille agreed.

“Meeting people like him makes all the pomp and circumstance I need to put up with worthwhile,” the Duchess continued.

“You…you don’t like being a Duchess, Madam?” As soon as she asked the question she realised how impertinent it was. Before she could begin to apologise, the Duchess herself laughed lightly.

“Goodness! What a refreshingly brazen question! I’m sure you’re aware that my husband did not expect to inherit the Dukedom. I married well above my own class and didn’t think I’d ever be a Duchess. I think I preferred the first 22 years of our marriage before all of this, but my husband has a strong sense of duty and I am loyal to my husband.”

Camille could only smile in response. The Duchess hesitated before continuing, “I hope you aren’t too upset that my son didn’t mention us before.”

“Oh,” Camille squirmed a little. “Oh, it came as a surprise but, I mean it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, good. I mean he stopped telling women after that –“

The Duchess didn’t finish that sentence, which was a real shame as it had piqued Camille’s interest. Her abrupt finish was due to the arrival of the Duke, Richard as well as Dwayne and Fidel. Camille found herself on her feet again. “Sir,” she greeted him.

“Think I’m safe to ask your mother for tea without her setting up a Guillotine?”

Camille had already come to an arrangement with her mother, so the tea was presented without incident – along with beers for herself and the boys. She couldn’t help but smile at Fidel, who was listening attentively whilst the Duke related stories from his years in the diplomatic service, with his wife occasionally providing the odd aside. He seemed to be quite enjoying having a captivated audience, outsiders may have thought that Fidel was trying to cosy up to the Duke, but he was genuinely interested. The respect he had for the Inspector probably extended to his father without question.

Next to her, Camille noticed Richard frowning at his cup of tea, “What’s the matter?”

“This is proper milk,” he said in a low voice, clearly afraid of being overheard.

“Yes, and?”

“Your mother hardly ever has the UHT stuff, let alone actual, proper milk!” He sounded genuinely annoyed. “So much for her republican values. Oh yes, I have a proper career and all that but do I get actual milk? Or even just UHT milk? No! But a Duke and Duchess come and she hunts it down for them!” He delivered all of that in an annoyed hiss, and Camille rolled her eyes at him. Why the hell couldn’t he just be happy with the milk?

“Don’t start a fight with her about the stupid milk,” she whispered back.

“I’m not going to start a fight!” That was clearly a little louder than he intended, as it caught his mother’s attention.

“Start a fight about what, darling?”

“Nothing, Mum,” he said, flustered. “Um, how’s the tea?”

“Wonderful, darling, much better than at the hotel. Madam Bordey even has proper milk instead of that UHT stuff!”

This comment allowed Richard to throw Camille another scornful look. She huffed and shook her head in annoyance. His mother gave him a smile he didn’t quite know how to interpret and returned to the conversation about the diplomatic service. Dwayne was trying not to dose off in the evening sunshine.

After a few moments of Richard sulking, Camille couldn’t take it anymore, “I got the stupid milk!” she told him quietly. “My mother isn’t giving your parents preferential treatment so stop sulking.”

“Where did you get proper milk from?” He asked, taken aback.

There was no way that Camille was admitting how much trouble she’d gone to. Saint Marie didn’t exactly have a dairy, and the heat generally made transporting and storing fresh milk a damn expensive business. She’d like to say she didn’t even know _why_ she’d gone to such an effort – but she did. She wanted Richard’s parents to like it here and then maybe they wouldn’t ask him to come home.

“Look, I have my contacts, but don’t think I’ll be doing it again. You’re stuck with us, you can learn to live with the milk we have,” she told him firmly.

 

* * *

 

At some point, his mother moved on from tea to gin and tonic. This then led to the mortifying stories from his childhood that he had rather hoped to avoid for at least the first week. Even his Dad had contributed to his embarrassment when, nagged by his mother, he had produced a photograph of the three of them on his graduation from Cambridge from his wallet. Richard hadn’t actually known he carried that about, and his Dad looked about as embarrassed about being found out as Richard felt.

Ah, but the crowning moment of his humiliation was after his mother had just finished her third gin and tonic and declared to Camille, “You know, I do believe Richard might have been conceived here on Saint Marie.”

He choked on his beer and then, still gasping, protested, “Mum!”

“What?” she said innocently. “Your father and I went to many places in the early years of our marriage. We were here for the start of the proceedings to hand Saint Marie back over to Great Britain. Isn’t that right, dear? Dear? DEAR!” She managed to successfully gain her husband’s attention.

“What, Angela?” Richard’s father replied, clearly a little put out at being interrupted full flow.

“I’m trying to figure out if Richard was conceived here! We were here in 1970 right?”

Richard’s father visibly blanched, and Richard knew his humiliation was now complete since the question had also been heard by Dwayne, Fidel, Catherine and about half the bar – and from there the entire island. His father asked in a low tone, “Darling, do you think that’s an entirely suitable topic of conversation?”

He received a glare for his question, “I am merely discussing our last trip to Saint Marie. Now were we here in 1970 or not?”

“Yes,” he sighed heavily, and turned back to explaining the difference between a consulate and an embassy to Fidel, whose attention was now torn between that conversation and the wonderful revelation his mother had just made.

“Well I think there’s a good chance I’m right!” she said brightly. Camille had the sort of smile on her face that meant the topic was going to be brought up again in the near future.

“You never told me you’d been here before,” he complained.

“Honestly, darling, we went to a lot of British overseas territories and,”- she addressed the next to Camille - “no offense to your wonderful home, my dear, but after a 6 week tour they all sort of look the same. Remember I was stuck in hotels most of the time, not out exploring. It wasn’t until I thought about it that it came back to me.”

“But, but, if you’ve been here why have you been giving me ridiculous advice like ‘wrap up warm’,” Richard asked.

His mother sighed, “I’ve been teasing you, darling. I realise I can be a bit over protective at times but I thought you’d pick up on it. Now I’ve lost the bet I had with your father.” She rummaged about in her purse and passed her husband a five pound note. He looked a little smug whilst accepting it.

Richard had had enough for now, his mother had decided to talk about his conception (an image he didn’t want to contemplate, _ever_ ) and had been winding him up for other a year. He needed a break, and went to the bar to fetch the next round. Camille followed him.

“Stop looking so grumpy, it isn’t that bad,” she teased him.

“Excuse me, if anything defines a traumatic event it has to be your mother announcing the circumstances of your conception to all of your colleagues!”

“Well I think it’s sort of nice. Like you’ve come back to your spiritual home.”

He gave her a look of utter disdain, “In what manner would having been conceived here make Saint Marie my ‘spiritual home’? Because I doubt very much there was anything spiritual about my conception.”

“Oh come on, don’t you believe in destiny? It’s like you were fated to return here one day?”

“Have you heard yourself? It’s not _destiny_ , it’s a coincidence.”

“You always say there are no such things as coincidences!” she shot off.

“Ah! You’re quoting me out of context. There is no such thing as a coincidence _in a murder investigation_. And even then sometimes there actually is, the exceptions that prove the rule, but the point is you put in the work to investigate that. However this, Camille, is just a coincidence. There is no such thing as fate or destiny or soul mates.”

She was annoyed at him for his practicality again, he could tell from the crossed arms and glaring. Who said he couldn’t read people? But what did she expect? Why didn’t she learn he wasn’t going to wake up one day and have changed his mind? They were always in this constant battle to change each other’s minds and sometimes it made him damn tired.

“Yes, well I think five minutes with you is enough to kill most people’s belief in destiny or soul mates,” with that, which he thought was supposed to be an insult, she turned on her heel and stormed off towards the ladies.

He sighed aggressively, collected the beers and went back to join the others. His father caught his attention though and asked him, “Did you scare her off, son?” Which Richard translated as ‘I really want to know what you were fighting about but I’m far too courteous to ask you straight out.’

“Oh she’ll come back when she’s calmed down. She got upset when I dismissed her idea that being assigned to Saint Marie was some sort of destiny, after you and Mum visited…” he wasn’t going to mention the c word again.

“Well that is ridiculous. I bet the odds aren’t that high. We could probably do the maths.”

Richard considered the idea, “We’d need to know the tourism rates for 1970.”

His father had retrieved a Parker from his pocket and a notepad, “Oh I can still remember those from the meeting with the French authorities. Sit down, we need to decide how many months constitutes a long term stay on Saint Marie.”

 

* * *

 

When Camille returned to the table, having judged her temper to now be under control, she found Richard’s mother looking at her husband and son with something akin to dismay. They appeared to be making copious notes both in a notebook and on napkins and arguing good naturedly.

“What are they doing?”

“I believe they are trying to work out the statistical likelihood of an individual conceived during a short trip to Saint Marie then returning to live here for a period of six months or more – which is what they just decided constituted a long term stay,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know if I should be demoralised by their utter pragmatism or pleased they are bonding over something.”

“HA!” cried Richard happily. He came over and happily slammed a napkin with equations she didn’t even have a chance at understanding on it in front of her. “1 in 3004.”

“1 in 3004 what?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

“Look,” he said, waving the napkin in front of her. “For every 3004 people whose parents happened to be on  Saint Marie on holiday or for business meetings about nine months before they were born, one of them will end up living on Saint Marie in the future for a period of at least six months.”

He looked really, really pleased with himself. She just levelled a look at him until he cottoned on, “You don’t really care, do you?”

“Nope.”

Wisely, he decided not to argue the point.


	4. Rivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main idea for this chapter I was originally writing in an independent story, but it wasn't working. Very happy to have been able to transfer it here, where hopefully it doesn't feel out of place.

He’d nearly made it through, five days of official engagements ended tomorrow – and then his parents would just be on holiday. Unfortunately, the Commissioner and Mayor of Honore had decided it was an absolute scandal that there was no official event to mark the end of the Royal stage of the trip to Saint Marie, and so had insisted at the very least that the Duke and Duchess come out for dinner.

“But tomorrow is Richard’s birthday!” his mother had cried. “We need to celebrate that.”

And so, without any consultation with him in the slightest, Richard found a party being planned in his honour. Luckily, it was at least not a formal affair. It would be at Catherine’s, and apart from the fact it now had a fair few minor dignitaries in attendance, would probably go pretty much the same way as if his parent’s weren’t here. He was pretty certain that his team would have practically tied him down and forced him to endure some kind of celebration.

He was in Catherine’s bar now, hiding at the back trying to ignore the people – mainly women – stealing glances at him. It seemed Dwayne’s joking statement had proved correct. There was no way for him to hide his relationship to Saint Marie’s royal visitors, and he had found himself suddenly the object of attention of quite a few women. In a section of his case he had politely stuffed numerous business cards and napkins with numbers on. He looked hopefully at the door, as he was expecting Camille to arrive at some point. He tended to get left alone when Camille was around.

 

* * *

 

When Camille arrived, the first thing she noticed was Dwayne at the bar surrounded by three extraordinarily attractive and really rather young women. It was not uncommon for him to flirt with the ladies, but he was also being eyed up by half the woman in the bar. It seemed a little more _intense_ than usual. The Dwayne situation could be classified as unusual, what she spotted next was downright bizarre. Serena Carling, whom she was pretty sure was one of Dwayne’s exes and in general rather _liberal_ with her affections, was perched on top of the table Richard was trying to drink tea at, largely bare legs crossed in a manner causing them to be pretty much directly in Richard’s eye line. The poor man clearly didn’t know where to look. He needed rescuing.

She walked directly over and managed to convey her disapproval in her greeting, “Evening, Serena.”

Miss Carling had been arrested a few times for being drunk and disorderly by Camille, and after tucking a napkin in the front pocket of Richard’s jacket and giving him a very suggestive view of her cleavage, she pushed off the table and walked away.

“What is going on this evening?” Camille asked him, sitting down opposite him. “Dwayne looks like he’s just been announced most eligible bachelor on the island and then Serena looked just about ready to…well, eat you alive.”

“Ah, well,” Said Richard. “In order to get rid of some of the attention I’ve been receiving since my parent’s arrival I told Dwayne he could tell people that when I left Saint Marie I’d be making him my official viceroy. I mean, technically it’s not the correct use of the term viceroy but neither he nor any of the young women seem to realise that or care.”

“You’re letting Dwayne use your title to take advantage of impressionable young women?” She questioned with a raised eyebrow.

It took a moment for her statement to sink in, and then he blanched, “Well, I mean…you see…oh God. What have I done?”

Camille giggled, “Richard every mother on this island warns their daughter’s about this sort of thing. They know what they’re doing. Forget him for now, I’m picking up the idea that Serena wasn’t the first woman to have approached you recently. How many numbers are you hiding in your jacket?”

“I am not talking about this,” Richard told her firmly.

“Oh come on!” she teased. “Let me see, there might actually be somebody suitable for you!”

“Not going to happen, so you can stop asking now.”

She just maintained eye contact, and eventually he sighed and retrieved the mess of scraps of paper, napkins and business cards from the front pocket of his case. She took them eagerly and began to sort through them.

“Elena Royale, far too young for you. I’m pretty sure she only got out of high school a couple of years ago. Felicity Hunt, I believe the polite term would be ditzy – totally unsuitable for you. Carmen – is that Carmen Drake?” she paused for confirmation, but Richard just shrugged. “Well what did she look like?”

“I’ve mainly been concentrating on getting rid of them not what they look like.”

“Well was she brunette, five foot ten, big breasts?”

He might be pretending he didn’t know who she was talking about, but the blushing indicated that her breasts had clearly left some sort of mark on his memory.

“Well if it is Carmen Drake she’s separated from her husband but still married, they are very much in on again-off again, so I’d steer well clear. Molly Chanel, I’ve been out with her she’s a lot of fun – but she’s no good for you. Takes about seven hours to get ready for a night out. Juliette Maison has three cats, surely that makes her a crazy cat lady in waiting? Emma Kingston, no you’d never get on she’s really into her voodoo, to extremes not even I would go too…”

“Are there any woman on this island you like?” he asked, exasperated. She supposed she had been being a bit negative. Actually she _liked_ quite a lot of these women, but that didn’t mean they were right for Richard.

“Hey, do you want my opinion or not?”

“Opinion on what?” Dwayne asked, apparently having shed his ladies for the evening and come to join them along with Fidel.

“Actually, I believe I didn’t ask for your opinion, you decided to force it on me,” he said grumpily.

“I’m just assessing the women who have been so kind as to provide the Inspector with their number,” Camille told the boys. “This is the ‘no’ pile, I haven’t checked these ones yet.”

Dwayne eagerly began to sort through the reject pile, whilst Camille and Fidel agreed that there was no way the Inspector could date Madeline Lille because she was too spontaneous.

“She’d always be trying to drag you off somewhere, or get you to go out when you don’t want to,” Camille explained.

“You mean like _you do_?” The Inspector pointed out. Fidel offered her no help, instead smirking at the table. She got the feeling he might have set her up.

“That’s different!” She protested.

“How?”

“I, um, know your limits!”

“And then choose to entirely ignore them and carry on regardless.” He had a point, and she thought it might be better to try and change the subject rather than keep digging herself deeper. Luckily Dwayne provided her with the subject change by protesting loudly, “What’s wrong with Juliette Maison?”

“Crazy cat lady, apparently,” Richard told him. Dwayne was of the opinion the number of cats a woman owned was counteracted by their attractiveness, and asked if he could keep the business card.

“Keep all of them, I’m not going to call any.”

Fidel rummaged through the remaining few, before pulling out one piece of paper where the name actually made him smile. “Jenna Washington!” he said almost triumphantly.

“The music teacher?” Dwayne asked for confirmation. “She’s perfect!”

Camille grabbed the paper from Fidel rather more aggressively than she intended as she disbelievingly asked, “Jenna Washington gave you her number?”

“Oh Sir, she’s great, she teaches Music at my old school. She’s one of the nicest people I know. And she’s English, and she plays the piano, and likes Shakespeare and I can’t believe I never thought to introduce you before!”

“Hey, you’ve even got the perfect ice breaker, you can tell her all about how you figured out the science lab’s skeleton was real!” Dwayne added.

“Actually, in my experience, women don’t like it when you talk murder on the first date…” Said Richard, demonstrating he had at least a some knowledge of women and dating

“But, but, isn’t she a bit shy?” Camille attempted to counter Fidel’s enthusing. Shy and softly spoken were accurate descriptions but weren’t exactly serious character floors. Dwayne was shooting Camille a knowing look, and she was trying to ignore a rising panic as she realised just have very suitable Jenna was. She blamed this panic for not spotting the obvious immediately, “Hang on, this is my mother’s handwriting!”

“Is it?” Said Richard, only mildly interested. “She did give me one of those pieces of paper but I assumed she was just passing it on from somebody else.”

“Excuse me,” Said Camille, leaving the table and rapidly tracking down her in the kitchen.

* * *

Catherine was about to start chopping up a pineapple when he daughter burst into the kitchen reminding Catherine of  _le mistral_ winds of her childhood which would blow doors off their hinges if not shut properly. “You gave Richard Jenna Washington’s number?” She demanded, taking the pineapple from Catherine’s hands and slamming it down on the counter.

Catherine would normally tell her daughter off for such insolence, she was not some criminal to be interrogated, however the intensity of her daughter’s reaction was intriguing and she couldn’t help baiting her a little more.

“Yes! I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. She’s perfect for him, no?”

“That’s why? It just suddenly just _occurred to you_ they were well suited?”

“Well, it wasn’t just that…” Catherine told her daughter vaguely, and could tell by Camille’s posture alone she found the unqualified statement maddening. This was all proving very revealing. She waited Camille out, who was staring at her hands on hips. Instead of expanding on her comment, she retrieved the pineapple and began to core it.

“Wasn’t just _what?_ ” Camille asked, finally cracking in the silence.

“Well I felt sorry for him, all those women who don’t really know him fawning over him and making him uncomfortable. I mean they don’t really like _him_ do they? I imagine most of them just like the idea of being a Duchess.”

“Exactly!” Camille agreed vehemently. “They have no idea what he’s like. How pedantic and – and – annoying!”

“He needs somebody patient, don’t you think?” Catherine was now carefully cubing the pineapple. “Who could maybe draw him out, put up with his quirks?”

“Yes!” Camille cried.

“Which is why Jenna is _perfect_!” Catherine told her daughter, big smile on her face. “I mean, she is used to dealing with unruly children.” She gave Camille a quick wink, and then moved on to slicing lemons.

Camille looked crestfallen enough that Catherine did actually feel sorry for her, but she hid her guilt and instead said brightly, “Let’s invite Jenna tomorrow! Perfect time for them to meet. It’ll keep all those other women from hassling him at his own party as well, poor man.”

“I can do that!” Said Camille forcefully. Catherine had to suppress a smile as implications of Camille’s statement caught up to her. “I mean, if I were to go with him, surely that’d be easier on everyone? A first date at a birthday party would be a bit awkward, wouldn’t it?”

Catherine gave her the look she used whenever she felt Camille was in denial – which when it came to how she felt about Richard was about 90% of the time, “But if you went with him, wouldn’t that be a first date?”

“No!” She protested loudly.

Catherine raised an eyebrow, “So you’ve been dating?”

“No! That’s not what I meant! I…I’d just be there as his friend. I’ll be running interference with other women,” Camille said, nodding and looking rather like she was trying to convince herself this was the truth.

“Well, I suppose that’s not a bad plan,” Catherine conceded. “You spoke to Richard already, then?”

Camille looked at the floor. So that was a no then, boy would Catherine love to listen in to that conversation.

 

* * *

 

When Camille had finished berating herself for being such a coward, she approached the table, where she found Dwayne and Fidel both working very hard to convince Richard to call Jenna Washington. Dear God, did everyone love Jenna?

“Come on Chief, she’s very elegant. Excellent Duchess material! She’s sure to keep all the other women away from you, they’d know they wouldn’t have a chance. I bet your mum would love her!” Richard gave Dwayne a look that clearly said ‘I will find a reason to fire you if you don’t shut up’. The experienced officer threw his hands up in defeat, and started stuffing some of the ‘reject’ numbers into his pocket.

“I’ll do that,” Camille managed to say, then realised from the look the three men gave her it probably wasn’t entirely clear what she was on about. “Keep women away from you!” She clarified. However they all still continued to stare at her with equally bemused expressions. “What? You don’t think I’m pretty enough to intimidate other women?”

All three men immediately started to deny that they had been thinking any such thing, and assuring her that she was of course intimidating enough to scare off other women. Which wasn’t what she’d asked, but she could live with it.  

    


	5. Rejection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much humour in this chapter. I have some sort of issue where I always have to have something cruel happen to Richard in the past…

She’d watched him leave, and noted the direction he turned meant he was probably heading for the station. Knowing him, he was scouring crime notifications, hoping to spot an incoming wave of law breakers that would keep him busy until after his birthday. Well Camille had looked herself, and there was nothing that couldn’t wait and there was no way he could convince any of them otherwise. She decided to make sure he knew that, but before she headed over she went upstairs to grab something.

He looked up from wanted notices when her shadow crossed his desk, “What?”

“Do you really think there is anything you can do to get out of tomorrow?” She asked, grinning.

“I can try,” though he looked pretty doubtful of his chance of success. “Have you just turned up to assure me I’ll fail?”

Camille considered her response carefully, “I’d rather _reassure_ you that crime will not be getting in the way of your birthday. But I realise to you that would be a disappointment.”

“You know me so well,” his tone was almost rueful.

She shuffled nervously, “Well perhaps I can offer you something to comfort you?” That hadn’t come out right, and he was giving her a bemused look that was also oddly attractive. She pulled the small parcel she’d fetched earlier out from behind her back, mirroring this time last year when she’d brought him cake. He looked at it a bit dubiously, so she shook it a little to encourage him to take it.

“What is it?” he asked as he finally accepted it from her.

“Your birthday present!” Considering what a brilliant detective he was, Camille rather thought he’d be able to surmise that from the wrapping paper.

He frowned, did he not know how to accept a gift? “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well I wanted to. It’s only small anyway, aren’t you going to open it?”

“Shouldn’t I save it until tomorrow?”

She perched on the desk, she had never become tired out when trying to give somebody a present before, “Well if you really want to, but I thought you might like it early.”

“Why?” Why? Why? Who didn’t like presents early or otherwise?

“Oh just open it!” she snapped. She got a glare for her insubordination, but she met his stare and won in the end. He began unwrapping it with great care, and her frustration spiked all over again. She grabbed it back out of his hands, tore off the paper, and threw the gift back at him. He looked mildly shocked, and she knew she was letting her stress get the better of her. She had to reign it in, or people might start asking questions about why she was finding a visit from her colleague’s parents so emotionally fraught. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Luckily for her, he got distracted by what she’d thrown at him, and she thought she caught him grinning for a millisecond before he schooled his features into something more neutral, “Where did you track these down?” He waved the bag of jelly babies for emphasis. “Nowhere on the island sells them!”

She grinned slyly, returning to her perch on his desk, “I can’t reveal my sources! I thought I’d let you have them now so you could hide them before Dwayne sees them. You know what he’s like with sweets.”

“Sod hiding them, I’ve got to eat them before my Dad finds out,” he opened the packet, selected an orange one and chewed on it happily. After a few moments he seemed to remember his manners and he offered her one, which she took mainly out of curiosity.

“Does your Dad like jelly babies as well then?” These weren’t too bad, she could get used to eating them.

“My Dad has the biggest sweet tooth on the planet, when I was quite small I was saving the icing off my cake at a wedding until last, looked away for a second and when I looked back he’d eaten it. I was so inconsolable I seem to remember the bride giving me her slice of cake.”

She smiled, trying to imagine him as a small child – sometimes she could swear he was born 43, or 44 as the case would be tomorrow. Mind she’d seen enough of his tantrums as an adult to be able to surmise why a bride would give up her own slice of cake. “Well I guess you inherited that off him,” she teased, as she accepted another sweet from the rapidly diminishing bag.

“I am _not_ as bad as him,” he told her emphatically. “When I was growing up best day of the week was a Monday, when Mum went shopping. You might just have a chance to get hold of a biscuit on a Monday. Honestly, Dad can sit down and eat a whole packet in one sitting, any biscuits in his vicinity are in grave danger. With Mum you’ve just got to watch your chocolate really, she once ate all the chocolate out of my advent calendar.”

He looked genuinely pained by the memory, and she couldn’t help but giggle, “Oh yes, how terribly your parents treated you. Clearly your lack of access to biscuits as a child as caused all sorts of psychological problems.”

“I’d be a perfectly well adjusted human being if it weren’t for that,” he replied dryly, then after a thoughtful pause, “Well, that and boarding school.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, she knew he didn’t like it there, “Was it really so bad?”

He shrugged, “At least I had access to all the biscuits I wanted. I spent most of my allowance on jelly babies.” He smiled at some memory, and Camille felt a little surge of happiness that he did have _some_ good memories.  “If we had a forensics lab I’d suggest we sneak in and do the screaming jelly baby experiment.”

She had to have misheard, “Excuse me?”

“It’s an experiment chemists do, often for school kids, really just for fun, it’s actually quite good fun. You get some Potassium chlorate, which is a really strong oxidising agent and heat it up until it melts. Then you add a jelly baby and it combusts almost instantaneously, letting off a noise that is general interpreted as screaming, though it’s actually more of a sort of combination of whooshing and whining,” He explained.

Ok, that was something she had to see for herself. She walked round to his side of the desk and shoved his chair over a bit, opening up the search engine on his laptop.

“What are you doing?” he sounded a little concerned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t check your browser history,” she joked. “An experiment like that, there is bound to be a video on you tube.” Thirty seconds later she found what she was looking for. She then discovered she’d created a bit of a monster, as Richard then looked for videos demonstrating the “elephant toothpaste”, the Briggs…something reaction, she’d liked that one it had lots of pretty colours, and finally  some physics with “The Monkey and the Hunter”.

“Honestly if you went into The Met forensics labs after hours you always found the night shift doing stuff like this, one time this really hot July they made strawberry sorbet using the Liquid Nitrogen,” He told her, after he’d finished explaining the effect of gravity of a projectile. Something she knew, because she was extremely proficient with small firearms, but decided to let him blather on about anyway. It was (nearly) his birthday after all.

“I suppose you told them off?”

He gave her a half smile, “Actually, most of them time I was only there to have a look.”

She raised both her eyebrows and grinned, “Richard Poole, who would have thought you had such a rebellious side. Wasting police resources on science experiments for fun. I’m so shocked I almost wonder if I’ll walk into the party tomorrow and find you introducing Serena Carling to your mother as the future Duchess of Grafton.”

“I’m also certain if I did so they would disinherit me,” he said.

Camille was curious as to exactly what their objections would be, “What if you really loved her?”

“Oh it doesn’t matter what I felt for her,” he muttered, giving away the fact that there must be some past grievance between him and his parents over a woman. Suddenly he seemed to realise he’d shared more than he intended and began shifting uncomfortably.

“What happened?” she asked gently.

“I…” he hesitated, then shut down. “It’s not really any of your business!”

His tone was sharp, defensive, she decided to leave the matter, “Ok, sorry. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

“Well I don’t,” was his sharp reply.

Having realised she had thoroughly ruined what up until them had been a pleasant sort of evening, she stood up and went to get her bag, “I’ll leave you to finish your sweets in peace.”

But then he shifted in his seat again, looked like he was going to say something but was struggling, so she deliberately took her time to look for her keys to give him a chance.

“There’s still some left,” he said nervously, indicating the jelly baby packet. “If you don’t help me eat them I’ll probably kill my pancreas.”

“Ok,” she said, trying to remain casual and selecting a green jelly baby. He didn’t say anything else, just chewed on his sweet, sneaking glances at her.

“You really want to know what happened, don’t you?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Camille admitted quickly. He knew her to well for lying to work. “But only if you want to tell me. I’m just, well your mother doesn’t seem like the sort of woman who’d stop you marrying someone you…care about.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” he defended his mother. “It, well, at a university like Cambridge there are a lot of people who know a lot of about the aristocracy and I couldn’t exactly hide the fact when my father inherited the Dukedom.”

“You got a lot of unwanted attention?”

“I was 20,” he said with a look.

“Ok, perhaps not so unwanted,” she smiled knowingly, so he had been a normal young man then, interesting.

“There was this girl called Melissa and we were close, together for about a year, and I thought that I wanted to marry her,” His tone implied how stupid he thought that desire was now, and Camille felt sorry for him – what person hadn’t made mistakes in love at that age? “I took her to Euston Hall one weekend, and confided in my Mother my plans but she didn’t like Melissa. Told me she didn’t think Melissa really loved me, and just liked the idea of an easy life as the wife of an Earl, which I didn’t exactly take well.” He paused, temporarily overwhelmed by guilt as he remembered the not so polite things he’d told his Mum.

“You didn’t listen to her?” Camille prompted him to continue.

“Not at first, but my Mum is clever. She apologised, said clearly I knew Melissa best, and then we started talking about what I’d do after graduation. I was a bit torn at the time. I’d been quite keen to apply to the police, and my Dad really approved, but I’d also been offered funding to do a PhD and Melissa was really pushing me to take up the offer. I was worried I’d upset her if I didn’t. My Mum said that she bet if I told Melissa I really wanted to join the police she’d be fine with it.”

“So did you tell her?”

“Yeah, yeah I did. And she immediately started pushing for the PhD career path again and then I got a bit peeved that she wasn’t willing to listen to my reasons for wanting to join up to the force. I put my foot down and told her I was going to sign up no matter what.”

“What did she say to that?”

“Oh I can remember it word for word, ‘An Earl simply doesn’t do something as common as being a policeman, Richard, and I certainly have no interest in spending my life with one either. So let go of this silly idea and take up Professor Hammond’s offer.’ I mean I didn’t want to be an Earl then, don’t want to be one now, and I realised that my Mum was – as mother’s so often are – right.”

The story had clearly ended, and her heart ached for the young man who’d been crossed so badly in love. She suspected he still carried that experience around with him as well, a constant fear people would not want him for _him_.

“I’m sorry,” she managed eventually.

He gave her one of those half shrugs, the sort he used when he was trying to dismiss the idea that his feelings may have been hurt in the slightest, “It was a long time ago.”

“But still…I wish it hadn’t of happened.”

“Because then I’d be some lecturer at a university in England, boring the socks off his students instead of you?” He asked ruefully.

“No!” she protested, frustrated with his self-deprecation. “I’m glad you’re here. Don’t know what I’ll do when you go off to be a Duke and I have to break in a new boss!” She suddenly found herself genuinely overcome by grief at the thought, and though she tried to hide the emotions brought on by her joke he must have caught something in her face because he was giving her a look that was a mixture of concern and mild anxiety.

“Well, my Dad likes running the estate now he’s retired – keeps him busy. But if I found a good estate manager there wouldn’t really be in need for my constant presence in the UK,” He said this carefully, and casually, as if he were just testing the idea aloud. She felt a little surge of hope, but she’d felt that before, thought he’d tell her what she wanted to here but he’d backpedalled and she’d been left disappointed.

“You mean,” she hesitated slightly, not sure she wanted to know the answer. “You could stay here?”

“Nobody ever said a Duke can’t live in the Caribbean. Except your mother, that is,” he added thoughtfully on the end.

She just looked at him, smiling, and he was able to hold he gaze for a while – returning the smile. Then the silence between them grew a little too intense to remain uncomfortable, and he shifted, picking up the packet of jelly babies that she assumed they had now emptied. Peering in, he smiled, and held the bag out to her, “Last one?” he offered, but she shook her head.

“Don’t be silly, I bought them for you.”

“No, go on,” he said, rustling the packet invitingly. “Let’s face it I ate 90% of them anyway…”

It was probably one of the sweetest offers she’d ever received, and not because of the sugar content of the candy. 


	6. Retribution

 

Richard spent the morning of his birthday glancing at the phone, clearly willing it to ring. It amused Camille greatly. He was clearly holding out hope until the last moment possible, and getting grumpier as criminals continued to refuse to comply with his desire for a nice, murder filled birthday. Camille would be willing to bet if presented with a cake now, he’d wish for bank robbery or something equally dramatic. Dwayne was quite the opposite, getting cheerier as the morning continued, looking forward to see the date he had secured for the evening.

“Chief?” he piped up suddenly.

“Yes Dwayne?” For a millisecond, Richard looked hopeful – like Dwayne was about to report an incident he could investigate. Then he seemed to realise how unlikely this was, since the phone hadn’t rung, nobody had come into the station and Dwayne’s computer screen showed him to be apparently shopping for rare vinyl.

“You know how you weren’t interested in dating any of those women…” Dwayne began cautiously, trailing off and pausing as if he was waiting to be berated.

Camille and Fidel had both sat up in expectation of the explosion caused by Dwayne asking inappropriate questions, but were a little surprised when he just sighed and said, “Yes, I’ll pass on any more numbers I get.” God, maybe he really was mellowing.

“No, it wasn’t that, though cheers, Chief. I was just wondering, you didn’t reject them because you’re expected to marry your cousin or something? You know, another member of Royalty?”

Camille had been smiling up until then, amused by Dwayne’s antics, but when he posed that question her smile turned to a frown, eyebrows knitting together as she had a brief panic that it might be the case.

“No I do _not_ have to marry my cousin!” Richard snapped out. “Even the aristocracy have realised that times have moved on.”

“Right, Chief. Sorry, Chief.” Dwayne went back to his appraisal of vinyl discs. Camille let out a quiet sigh of relief, of course he didn’t have to marry some cousin! Her conversation with him last night should have told her that. She then shook herself mentally and started scrambling for excuses as to why she cared so much, decided that it was simply because she wouldn’t want him to be forced into a loveless marriage.  

 

* * *

 

 

Around lunchtime, Camille convinced Richard they should get out of the station and go to her Mother’s bar. Her winning argument was that she’d buy the tea, and that her mother was well aware after last year not to attempt to give him anything _but_ that tea. Just before he walked into the bar, he stopped very suddenly, and she nearly walked into him. He was staring at the bar looking very concerned, so she peered around him and saw both their mothers deep in conversation.

“Oh God, they’re bonding,” Richard muttered.

“Is that really so bad?” Camille asked, following his lead and pitching her voice low, he clearly didn’t want to be spotted yet.

“I do not need my Mother to be using yours to bloody spy on me!” He hissed. “They are probably planning my entire future _at this very moment.”_

She shook her head at him, “Don’t you think it’s a bit vain to assume they are talking about you?”

He considered this, “Actually, you’re probably right. I can’t see your mother willing to engage in conversation about me for very long unless she was getting to insult me.”

“Oh she likes you more than you realise,” Camille chided, stepping around him and intending to finally make her way into the bar proper. She was really starting to need a beer. However what she saw gave her pause, and she turned back to Richard suddenly. “Actually you know what, we always go here. Why don’t I take you somewhere else for lunch, wherever you want,” She suggested brightly.

Richard narrowed his eyes at her, the problem with police officers is they are naturally suspicious and she’d known there was no real way he’d accept her apparently spontaneous offer without questioning it, “Why don’t you want to go in here?”

“I just thought you might like the change,” she tried to go for nonchalant, added a shrug of her shoulders for good measure. He just kept looking at her, “Fine, you’ve got me. See that horrendous pink book my mother is showing yours? That is what she calls my ‘baby book’.”

“What, and you don’t want me to see the pictures? Camille, do I honestly look like the kind of man who would be interested in cooing over pictures of a baby? This is the only place on the island, much to my dismay, where I can get a decent cup of tea and _that_ is the reason I’ve come here.”

“Right, I didn’t really think of it that way,” She said and followed him in.

 

* * *

 

Richard walked straight up to the women at the bar, and plucked the book out of his mother’s hands. Camille gave him a mildly horrified look as he scrutinised her early photos. “You were quite a cute baby,” he concluded mildly.

“Oh she had a really wrinkly forehead when she was born,” Catherine was smiling like she was still the proud mother of a new born. “She always looked really worried when she had her eyes open, see.”

“And you accuse me of being grumpy,” he showed her the photo Catherine had pointed out to him, but Camille was glaring at him. Birthday or no, he was clearly in trouble with her.

“You said you weren’t interested in looking at baby photos,” she accused.

“Actually, my precise words Sergeant Bordey were ‘do I honestly look like the kind of man who would be interested in cooing over pictures of a baby?’ You made the decision that I wasn’t, which was your mistake,” Richard was really rather proud of his little bluff.

She pulled the book from his hands, put it down on the bar and then physically dragged him a little way away from the bar to hiss at him, “You can’t be looking at pictures of me as a baby and listening to my mother tell embarrassing stories about me! You’ll…you’ll not be able to respect me as a police officer anymore!”

“Excuse me, all week you have been thoroughly encouraging _my_ mother to share humiliating stories from _my_ childhood. Are you saying you’ve lost respect for me?”

He had a good point, but she wasn’t quite willing to give up the fight, “Your rank earns you respect automatically, I had to work for mine.”

“I assure you I’m not going to lose my respect for you just because I’ve seen a picture of you looking grumpy as a baby or because you ate cat food when you were four. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown such glee whenever my mother attempted to embarrass me, you know what this this? Its retribution – you know what they say, turn-about is fair play,” He shot her a grin, and thought he could discern the fact she was attempting not to smile. Instead she had schooled her features into those of a resigned individual.

“Hang on!” Camille _had_ cottoned on to what he said then. “How do you know I ate cat food when I was four?”

“Your mother likes talking as much as you do,” he told her succinctly.

She huffed, then did actually smile. It wasn’t a happy smile – he’d describe it more as vindictive, “You know what, you’re right. It _is_ only fair after what you’ve suffered. Oh you know what story she _loves_ to tell? Her long and apparently difficult labour with me. I got stick half way out, put my hand on my head – I’ll let her tell the story though, she’s so much better at it, _Maman!_ ”

Camille Bordey was an evil genius, he concluded, as for the first time in his whole life Richard was put off his tea.

 

* * *

 

His mother had casually mentioned how she wished she had a book to tell her more about Saint Marie, and Camille had bounded upstairs to dig one out. Catherine had mercifully had to go serve other customers. Richard looked up from his contemplation of the tea pot (he decided he still felt a bit to queasy to risk it) to find his mother giving him an intent look that normally indicated he was about to be subjected to an awkward conversation.

“So you’re bringing the lovely Sergeant Bordey this evening?” His mother was trying to sound casual, and was failing miserably. She’d make a rubbish criminal.

“Well of course she’s coming, the whole team is,” he said dismissively, though he knew that is not what she meant. Perhaps pretending to be dense would get her to drop the prying.

“Oh yes, darling, but Madam Bordey mentioned that you were going, you know, _with_ Camille.”

It was his mother, and he loved his mother, so he didn’t roll his eyes even though he really wanted to, “It’s not like _that_. We’re just colleagues.”

“Oh, most people don’t bring a colleague to a party as a date,” she was still using the falsely causal tone. He’d clearly inherited whatever talent he had for bluffing from his father.

“Well fine, friends then, we’re going as friends. She was trying to save me from inappropriate attention from women you wouldn’t approve of, that’s all, so please just, just leave it Mum,” if he sounded pleading enough, maybe she would back off. And where the hell was Camille with that damn book – he was sure his mother wouldn’t dare continue this topic if Camille was actually present.

“Or perhaps she was jealous of all that extra attention, I’m sure she rather likes you!” Richard was glad he’d been put off his tea, because if he’d been drinking it when his mother made that little declaration he would have ended up choking.

“ _Mum!_ ” he protested in a loud whisper, desperately whipping his head around to make sure neither Camille or Catherine were in ear shot.

“Women know these things,” his mother continued blithely, even though she could not be ignorant to his discomfort. “I also know you well enough to be able to tell you rather like her too.”

“Well you are wrong,” he told her firmly. “And we are _not_ discussing this.”

“Well, just a moment, I mean have you ever asked?”

“Asked what?” He asked, still nervously looking about.

“If she’d, I don’t know, like to be a Duchess one day?” She posed this question with a bright smile, like it wasn’t the most ridiculous suggestion she’d ever made in her entire life.

Richard’s disbelief at what he’d heard was so complete that he hadn’t managed to form a reply by the time Camille appeared slightly breathlessly at the table.

“I’m sorry it took so long to find, Madam. For some reason it was under the sofa.” Camille passed his mother the book, which she accepted with a smile and sincere thanks.  

“Well we better go back to work now,” Richard said firmly. “Don’t want Dwayne and Fidel to think we’re skiving off just because it’s my birthday.” He strode away so quickly it took Camille a moment to register he was gone.

His mother called after him, “Think about what I said, Richard.”

Camille looked like she was going to ask what that was, but he shot her a look that clearly indicated that he would not be sharing that information. Instead she chatted inanely about how she couldn’t decide what shoes to wear that evening, probably as punishment for him being grumpy. He put up with it though, because it meant he didn’t really have to make much of a response and he was free to think about other things.

Like the infinitesimal possibility that his mother might actually be right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I used quite similar jokes in this chapter as I did in the last chapter of Home Ground Advantage. But it was just too tempting to have Dwayne bring it up as a possibility.


	7. Revelry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I can’t be funny every chapter.

Camille found she really rather liked the way Richard’s eyes seemed to find her wherever she was in the bar. Most of this evening she’d actually spent extracting him from conversations with local politicians and businessmen as opposed to saving him from unwanted female attention. The Commissioner had been rather firm with her earlier that she too attempt to do a little networking, so on several occasions was forced to leave him to go say hello to some lawyer, local politician or officer from Guadeloupe. She always felt him watching her though, even when he was supposed to be talking to the Mayor of Honore and the Commissioner about next year’s budget.

The music was pretty loud, and several guests were using the patio as an impromptu dance floor. Camille could see the Duke and Duchess discussing something in one corner of the bar, she appeared to be asking something whilst the Duke looked grumpy and refused. She could see Richard in his father at that moment, realised just how many of his traits were inherited. Eventually the Duke seemed to give up and nod in agreement to something the Duchess was saying, and then he got up to join Richard, the Commissioner and the Mayor. This left the Duchess alone, which Camille didn’t like to see, so she went to join her.

“How are you this evening, Madam?” She stood politely before Richard’s mother, despite how often the Duchess had invited Camille to be more casual around her she still felt like she should wait for permission to sit.

“Camille, my dear, would you care to join me? I’ve managed to convince my husband he will be dancing with me if they put on a slow song, which I will of course ensure by making the request myself shortly,” She said as Camille sat down with her. She followed the Duchess’ gaze to find her watching her husband fondly.

“You love him very much,” Camille said without really thinking about it. Richard’s mother was such a bright, charming woman she did find the pairing a little odd, but her love for her husband was obvious every time Camille had seen them together.

“Well of course I do, dear, we’ve always been very happy together,” Camille must not have hidden her thoughts well enough, because the Duchess actually tsked before telling her firmly. “Now, dear, just because he’s not all hearts and flowers like French young men might be when trying to woo you doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. Poole men just don’t work that way, they are a bit more, well, subtle. It took him two years to pluck up the courage to ask me out.”

Camille was unable to resist asking how exactly Poole men did go about showing their feelings.

“Well, let me see, there used to be this advertising campaign in the UK for these sweets and it was ‘do you love anybody enough to give them your last rolo?’. My husband will always save me the last one, he’d even sometimes buy a packet when away on some diplomatic trip and then bring the last one home with him – normally it was a bit too manky to actually eat but it was the sentiment that was important,” She paused, smiling, probably remembering the many chocolate offerings of her marriage. “If you knew how big a sweet tooth my husband has you’d understand the significance of that gesture better, I think.”

“Richard told me something similar,” Camille commented.

“Well it’s not just that, it’s how he does things that make him so terribly uncomfortable because it makes me happy – like dancing, or spending the afternoon in the Tate Modern,” she continued. “I used to think he cared more about his job than anything else in the world. I told him about how this young woman who lived near me was going to be deported back to Viet Nam – this was during the war of course. He stayed up all night, putting in phone calls, begging various ministers, secured the young woman residency in the UK – even though such a thing could have seriously set back his career. Civil servants are not supposed to question to actions of their superiors.”

“That was very noble of him,” Camille agreed, though her mind was already considering the actions of his son, a man who covered up the true motives of a murderer to save the rainforest, who gave back stolen medication to a nurse practitioner so he could keep helping those who could not afford medical help otherwise.

“He still surprises me now you know. The library at Euston Hall has this set of first edition M.R. James novels – he was friends with one of the previous Dukes. King’s College have been making offers for that set of novels for I don’t know how long, but he would not give them up. His father used to read them to Peter and he, and in fact when we went to Euston Hall for visits Peter always loved scaring Richard with a tale or too. Anyway, yesterday the man comes to me and says he rang the head librarian at King’s and came up with a new offer – he’s given them the books in exchange for them maintaining a new, well stocked library at the hospital with at least a third of the books being for children. He must have made the decision when we popped in to visit young Solomon again, he disappeared and I thought he’d just gotten bored but I found him scowling in the library. I had no idea…” The Duchess looked a little teary, and to her surprise Camille found herself feeling quite moved as well.

 

* * *

 

At the same time Camille was receiving a lecture from the Duchess of Grafton, Richard managed to find himself alone with his father when the Mayor and Commissioner excused themselves to go greet some other minor dignitary who had just arrived.  Richard glanced around for Camille, whilst mentally berating himself for having spent the entire evening doing so. On a few occasions he’d entirely missed what was being said because he was too distracted by the sight of her.

“She’s with your mother,” his father supplied helpfully, and Richard immediately tried not to blush that it had been so obvious his attention was elsewhere.

“Uh-oh,” he said under his breath, he began to debate interrupting them in case his mother decided to give Camille a similar talk to the one he had received earlier.

“What’s the matter, son?” His father asked, following his son’s gaze.

“Oh it’s just,” he sighed, debating is he should actually confide in his father. Decided to simply because then he might exert some control over the situation. “Mum isn’t always the most realistic person, she’s such a romantic and I think she has some vague idea that this is all, I don’t know, like a fairy tale. The plain heir to the Dukedom moves far away and disguises himself as a common police officer in the vain hope he finds somebody who loves him for who he is and not his title. For reasons I can’t fathom she has decided that woman is Camille, which is utterly insane. This is not a fairy tale, and a woman like Camille Bordey has about a thousand better suitors than me.”

“You know son, sometimes fairy tales do come true.”

Richard couldn’t believe that his devastatingly practical father had actually just uttered those words. Since he was 90% sure his Dad was just finishing his second glass of wine, alcohol could not be to blame. Richard mentally started running through the symptoms of a stroke in his head, and having also eliminated that as a possibility, ended up asking stupidly, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Look, um, I’ve no desire to get overly sentimental here, but I never would have imagined your mother would agree to marry me. She was independent, feisty and gorgeous – I was not the obvious choice for her, you know? But she did pick me and, well, it felt like a little personal miracle,” his father confessed. Richard, having never heard his father speak like this before, was pretty much just left silent and shuffling awkwardly. “If you’re worried let’s go over there and make sure your mother is behaving, eh?”

They approached the women, to find them both looking a little tearful. Father and son exchanged mildly panicked looks, Camille missed this but Richard’s mother must have caught it because she ending up letting out a laugh.

“Is everything ok, my dear?” His father asked cautiously.

To Richard’s surprise Camille leapt to her feet and addressed his father, “Your Grace, well I just wanted to say thank you for arranging the new library at the hospital. I know those books had great value, not just monetary, and I think what you did was very sweet.”

Richard realised what Camille was going to do only about half a second before she did it, so he was unable to prevent it when she threw her arms around his father and kissed him on the cheek. He almost laughed at his father’s reaction, the way he just stood very still and looked like he was willing the experience to be over as soon as possible.

“Camille,” he said, putting a hand on her arm and guiding her away before she succeeded in actually giving his father a heart attack. He didn’t remove his hand immediately, because surely he should continue to try to restrain her, right?

“Oh God that was really inappropriate, wasn’t it?” Camille seemed genuinely mortified by her actions.

“It’s fine Sergeant Bordey, I’m just…not used to people expressing their gratitude in such a manner,” behind her husband’s back, Angela Poole, Duchess of Grafton, was physically biting her tongue to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Her husband seemed to sense her amusement though, shooting her a sideways glance of disapproval that only tickled her more.

“You gave the M.R. James novels to King’s?” Richard asked, this was the first he’d heard of it.

“Yes, in exchange for them maintaining a decent library at the hospital,” his father replied, subconsciously taking a step back in case reiterating the fact should cause Camille to throw her arms around him again.

“You love those books,” Richard couldn’t help but continue.  

“Yes,” his father confirmed. Richard supposed if he had a normal relationship with his father he’d be able to say ‘well I think that was really nice of you Dad’. In fact he might have done if his father wasn’t still recovering from Camille’s slightly emotional response. So instead he just sort of nodded his acknowledgement and his father gave him a curt nod in return.

“Come on, darling,” his mother said standing. “I want to see if they have our song.”

With a _very_ audible sigh Richard’s father followed her.

Next to him, Camille said miserably, “He thinks I’m crazy now doesn’t he?”

“Oh no,” Richard dismissed, looking down at her. “He’s just very English and he probably thinks you’re very French. He’ll get over it, I did.”

This succeeded in drawing a smile from her, which was his aim. That smile got a little bit wider when the pace of the music changed, and damn it he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Oh come on, Camille. Can’t I get a pass? It is _my_ birthday.”

“It’s your party and you’ll refuse to dance if you want to?” She teased.

He actually _got_ that popular culture reference, “Exactly!”

“Well I’m not _forcing_ you to dance,” she told him coyly. “I’m just letting you know that I wouldn’t say no if you ask.”

“Well there are about thirty other men eyeing you up in the bar, I’m sure they’d make better partners than me,” he told her exasperated.

“Well I’m not going to say yes to them,” To his surprise, she sounded as exasperated as he was, and he was thoroughly confused by her response to his suggestion.

“Why not?”

Now she looked confused by his confusion, and told him firmly, “Because I came here with you.”

With that response, Richard changed the probability of his mother being right about Camille from “infinitesimal” to “minute”.

“Okay,” he said. Camille must have thought he was just acknowledging her statement, because she looked surprised when he stood and offered her a hand.

“You want to dance?” she asked for clarity.

“No, I do not _want_ to dance. But you do, and you know, you got dressed up and you look, um, well fantastic. And since you’ve had to put up with me all evening I think it’s just polite and…” his frustration at being unable to be articulate got the better of him, and he ended up finishing with, “Look do you want to dance or not?”

She took his hand, rising as she told him sincerely, “Of course I do. And don’t be so self-deprecating, I haven’t been putting up with you. I’ve had a really nice time.”

As she moved in closer than he expected, he upgraded “minute” to just “unlikely”.


	8. Requests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Penultimate Chapter! This is probably not entirely in character, but it was so much fun I don’t care!

Richard spent the week performing carefully designed experiments in his continued assessment of the likelihood that his mother was right, and Camille “rather liked him.” He decided first off to see if she’d be willing to spend time with him in a social situation without the rest of the team. He spent an entire day trying to come up with something that counted as such, but could not accidently be interpreted as a date. He was supposed to be writing the annual report, but was so distracted he only managed one section instead of finishing the whole thing as he planned. As she was dropping him off at his place he thought she might be hesitating, so he asked in a rush if she wanted a drink before he could stop himself and she said yes.

Unlikely got upgraded to questionable.

The next morning it went straight back to unlikely when they got into a fight because she thought the couple kissing goodbye in the front of the car was cute, and he wanted to write them up for a traffic violation. But then she was _so_ pleased when he did concede to let the issue go, flashing him one of her mega-watt smiles and teasing him about maybe being a bit of a romantic after all, that by lunch time he’d decided to reinstate the questionable status.

He was seeing physically less of his parents now they were free from official duties, though they came to Catherine’s every evening to have tea. His father was still enjoying imparting his wisdom on Fidel, Dwayne was still enjoying the extra attention from women and his Mother was still enjoying Catherine’s company – all of this meant he and Camille often found themselves on their own. It was on these evenings that he collected enough data to upgrade from questionable to moderately likely – in other words 50/50. He concluded this based on the fact she never left early when it was just them, and more importantly one evening when they were discussing, well, a little bit of everything really, Catherine had come over to ask if they intended to go home at all. He’d been more than a little surprised to find it was nearly one.

But really, moderately likely only indicated for sure that they were friends, and not just colleagues. There was no way he’d risk acting on _moderately likely._ It was going to take a lot more time and carefully constructed experimental scenarios to decide if it was appropriate to broach the subject of perhaps being more than friends.

 

* * *

 

 

His mother, however, did not seem to think this was as good idea as he did. He took the afternoon of their last full day on Saint Marie off to spend some time with them before they left. Seemingly from nowhere his mother exclaimed, frustrated, “Have you _still_ not done anything, Richard?”

“Angela,” his father cautioned.

Richard decided to go for ignorance, “Done anything about what?”

“Your young woman! You know I would quite like grandchildren sometime this century, even if they are on the other side of the world,” his mother complained teasingly.

“I’m inclined to agree with your mother on that point,” his father muttered, and Richard suddenly had a very bad feeling.

“Is _that_ what this is about? You just want me to have a kid so my cousin Barry doesn’t inherit Euston Hall, don’t you?” He was spitting angry, and his mother looked shocked and upset by his reaction.

“Richard!” His father said sharply. “Of course it isn’t. Your mother and I want what every parent does, to know their child is happy. Yes, maybe in my old age I’m getting sentimental, but it’d be nice to have a grandchild I can teach to bother the carp in the lake the way we did when you were a boy. But that’s my problem, if it isn’t what you want then fine. You can bulldoze Euston Hall after I’m gone if it makes you happy.”

Richard was entirely taken aback by his father’s display of emotion, but eventually pulled himself together enough to manage the apology he owed them both. His mother accepted it gracefully, even though he’d clearly upset her.

“I just don’t like to think you’re missing out, wasting time because you don’t want to take the chance darling,” his mother said softly. “I’m sure she likes you well enough to forgive you even if I’m wrong about how much.”

As if she knew she was being discussed, Camille walked in, he could only assume since it was still the middle of the afternoon that she’d just stuck her head in during a break. She gave a smile and wave, but went to talk to her mother. Now his mother was giving him an imploring look, and he felt like he owed her something after his little outburst earlier.

“You want me to go ask if she wants to be a Duchess one day?” he sighed, looking at his mum. She just nodded encouragingly. He stood slowly, really if he did phrase it _exactly_ like that he could probably extract himself without too much embarrassment when it all went wrong. He could assure her he was asking because his mother was curious about what she thought about the life of a Duchess, and whether it appealed – that it was purely an academic question.

She smiled at him as he approached her at the bar, and was immensely relieved when Catherine suddenly disappeared into the kitchen.

“How’s your afternoon?” She asked.

“Do you want to be a Duchess?” he responded in a rush.

Since Camille had obviously been expecting something along the lines of ‘fine thank you, how are things at the station?’ she didn’t respond immediately. Instead she screwed up her face in confusion, before eventually just asking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you want to be a Duchess one day?” he managed to slow down a fraction, and this time she seemed certain of what she’d heard.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” She asked incredulously.

“NO!” he very nearly shouted. “Why would you think that?!?”

“Well, because wouldn’t that be the only way for me to become a Duchess?” Camille questioned. She _really_ hadn’t been expecting this when she’d decided to come say hello to her mother.  

“Well, maybe I just meant in general!” Richard glared at her, annoyed she’d jumped to _marriage_ of all things. “And just for your information, if I was going to propose to you I would do it _properly_!”

“Right, ok, sorry.” Camille paused to gather her thoughts, whilst Richard cursed his mother’s request and his ability to mess it up so spectacularly. Perhaps he’d just go back to England with his parents.

“Well in general I don’t particularly want to be a Duchess,” she began. Yup, next plane to the UK and hide in some backwater country station until everyone had forgotten him. “However if we are talking about me being with you, where part of the package is eventually becoming a Duchess, that’s different. That I’d like very much.”

He was probably doing a pretty good impression of a goldfish right now, Camille was looking a little anxious and after a few more moments of his stunned silence asked, “Was that the wrong answer?”

“That was a _fantastic_ answer,” he said sincerely. In fact he’d never meant something more in his whole life. “That was the best answer _ever_.”

She smiled, reached out and took his hand. He really wanted to kiss her, but there was no way that was happening in the bar in the middle of the day occupied by both their mothers. She knew him well enough to know that, even if she probably had to confidence to partake in such public displays of affection. He didn’t have any words, but he couldn’t stop smiling at her, not when she was smiling back and holding his hand and wanted to be a Duchess if he meant _being with him_.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do they realise the rest of us are still here?” George Poole, Duke of Grafton, asked his wife. She responded with the look she used to indicate when he was being grumpy for no good reason. “Well they can’t stand there all day!”

“Oh come on darling, don’t you remember being young and in love? That’s the same look you gave me once upon a time when I said yes – try to dredge up the memory!” his wife chided.

He gave her a desperately serious look, “I don’t have the dredge up the memory - of course I remember what it feels like. I still feel that way when I see you now.”

“Darling, I…” Angela trailed off, marvelling at her husband’s ability to surprise her again. “Of course, I feel the same way.”

She leaned in and kissed him, perhaps with a little more passion than was warranted from a woman her age, but she didn’t hear her husband complaining.

 

* * *

 

 

A movement in the corner of Richard’s eye finally distracted him, and when he realised exactly what that movement was he was more than a little horrified, “Christ, what are they doing?”

“I believe its call kissing,” Camille said, mock-serious. “If you like I can show you how it’s done later.”

“I know that!” he was too shocked to handle the teasing. “But in public, at, at, their age! God this combined with my mother’s ‘I think you were conceived here’ story really is going to leave me psychologically scarred.”

“Maybe they want to recreate the event?” Camille asked, he shot her a questioning look at she clarified, “Your conception!”

“Camille!” he practically squeaked. “I do _NOT_ need that mental image!”

“I need, um, something from my place. Do you want to walk me back?”

“I’d like to be anywhere but here so yes,” he told her. It wasn’t exactly what she’d intended by asking, but it could still go her way. She text Dwayne to say she was helping Richard with something and to call in the event of a major crime incident, then prayed he didn’t figure out what a rubbish lie that was and spend the next few days smirking at her.

She didn’t let go of his hand, and to her surprise they got about fifty metres away from the bar he pulled her aside underneath a palm tree and kissed her. Her arms went around his neck and she responded eagerly, was incredibly disappointed when he pulled away after only a few moments.

“Sorry,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I just really wanted to do that. Plus the fact you responded means I definitely didn’t imagine or misinterpret what you said.”

“Well if you want more reassurance I’d be happy to do that again,” she said, leaning in.

“Camille! We’re in public. I’m not like my parents,” he said, but he was teasing. Oh well, the sooner she got him home the better.

On her porch, he kissed her again, and this time didn’t let up. It was soon pretty heated, and Camille was forced to place her hands on his chest and utilise all her will power to push him off.

“Richard let me open the door before we have to arrest ourselves for indecent behaviour,” she managed to get out.

“You want me to come in? As in stay?”

“Of course I do!” she said, as she rummaged in her bag for the keys.

“But I can’t!” The slight alarm in his tone caused her to stop her desperate search and actually look at him.

“Why?”

“Well you see there are these ancient laws surrounding Dukedoms you see, if any Duke or heir to the Dukedom takes a woman to bed, well that’s pretty much the same as marrying her,” he said solemnly.

“What? But…but what about your other relationships?”

“Oh I never let it get that far because of the whole Dukedom law thing,” he sounded terribly calm about it, she was feeling queasy with a mixture of profound disappointment and disbelief.

“Oh my God, you mean, you’re…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, gave him a dismayed filled look instead. He responded by bursting into laughter. The first thought that came to mind was the fact she could probably count on one hand the times she’d heard him laugh like that, and found herself desperate to responsible for such joy in the future. Then came the realisation of what he’d been up to.

She narrowed her eyes and punched him hard on the arm, “You were teasing me!”

“Yes, it’s fun, I can see why you do it so often,” he told her, still grinning.

“You evil man, I should, I should leave you out here!” She was trying to remain indignant, but failing when faced by his smile and the thoughts of what they were now free to get up to.

“Go on then, I’d like to see you try.”

Yeah, that was a challenge she was destined to fail. 


	9. Reassurance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s round this fic up!

The next morning, Camille really didn’t want to get out of bed. It was far too comfortable, even if she’d lost circulation in her arm because Richard was laying on it. Somebody was determined to get her up though, knocking rather persistently on the front door. She gave Richard a little shove, and he rolled over muttering something about not having enough mangoes. She chuckled, rapidly pulled on some clothes and went to answer the door.

She really wished she’d taken a little more care dressing when the person at the door proved to be the Duchess of Grafton. Instead of saying hello, all Camille could come up with was a little squeak of surprise. The Duchess gave her a kindly sort of smile.

“Good Morning, my dear. I was hoping you and my son could join my husband and me before we leave – we’ll be heading over to the airport in a couple of hours. Perhaps you could rouse Richard and come over to join us for tea at your mother’s bar?”

“Why would he be here?” A better question was probably why Camille bothered trying to lie, the raised eyebrow she received reminded her strongly of her mother’s expressions when Camille used to try to hide liaisons with young men. It was a pretty pathetic effort. If the Duchess was here, as polite as ever, she clearly wasn’t prudish. Before she could be called up on it, Camille continued, “Of course we’ll be over there as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, my dear, see you soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

Richard was vaguely aware that Camille had left the bed, but given her rather enthusiastic participation during the previous afternoon’s activities, he was feeling pretty damn confident she’d be coming back again. As a consequence he stayed half-awake/half-dreaming and hoped she’d wake him on her return. He was a little confused when her chosen method was to throw a pillow at him with surprising force.

“What was that for?” he asked, cowering a little at the glare she was giving him.

“I just went to answer some very insistent knocking on the door and opened it to discover your mother!” She said loudly.

“So?” He still wasn’t 100% sure what the problem was, surely his mother hadn’t offended her?

“Your mother saw me dressed _like this_!” She continued, clearly incensed.

“Well your decent aren’t you…?”

“I have no bra on and I’m wearing _your_ boxer shorts!” This time she threw former item of clothing at him. The clasp of the damn thing actually rather hurt when it hit.

“Ow! Why are you taking it out on me?”

“She’s _your_ mother!” Camille seemed to think this explanation was reasonably. She proceeded to grab a pillow, clamber onto the bed and hit him with it again.

He allowed it for a few moments, because he thought she’d get tired of it, but then he just got annoyed and forcibly removed the pillow from her. This just led to her pummelling him with her fists, but there was no real aggression there and they both knew it. He just grabbed her arms and pressed her into the mattress, kissing her until she was breathless and seemingly unable to remember why she was mad at him. It was a skill he hoped he’d be able to retain over the years, as it was bound to come in useful when dealing with Camille.

“Good Morning,” he said when he ended the kiss, unable to keep the smugness out of his tone as he looked at her flushed face.

“Morning,” she whispered, touching his face gently.

“What did she want?” he asked her.

She gave him a befuddled look, “Who?”

“My mother? What did she want?”

Her features managed a near instant transformation from befuddled to panic, “Oh my God! She wants us to go to my Mother’s bar to have tea, you know say goodbye because they are leaving.” She gave him a little shove and threw open her wardrobe, apparently looking for something to wear that wasn’t his. “What time is it? How long were we kissing for?”

“Not _that_ long,” Richard told her calmly. “I’m sure we have plenty of time.”

Camille threw him a look and simply said ‘No’, so Richard supposed she wouldn’t be coming back to bed this morning after all. Thus he resigned himself to hunting the house for various items of discarded clothing. She should be grateful she wasn’t having to turn up in the same clothes as last night. Mind a lot of his suits were pretty similar, perhaps people wouldn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

 

“Chief!” Dwayne greeted him as he and Camille entered. “Nice suit, seems sort of familiar though.”

Bloody cheek, “Well I have worn it to work before Dwayne.” Richard hoped that he’d added enough steel to his tone to avoid further comment, but apparently not as Fidel picked up where Dwayne left off.

“Yes Sir, but this is a different kind of familiarity. A bit like we’ve seen you in that suit and tie combination _very_ recently.”

They were probably banking on a night with Camille putting him in a good enough mood to let the teasing go. It was a pretty safe bet, so Richard just shook his head at their grinning and turned his attention to his mother who had come over. However before she turned her attention to her son, the Duchess had a few words to say to Fidel and Dwayne.

“Officers thanks for your assistance during our stay,” his mother told them sincerely, offering a hand to shake.

“Absolutely no problem Madam,” Dwayne said, and Richard didn’t miss the fact he actually _winked_ at his mother. Suddenly he wasn’t sure ‘assistance’ just referred to the two policemen escorting her around.

“It was my pleasure,” Fidel added politely.

“I’m going to have to drag your fellow officers away so we can say Goodbye now,” and his mother did in fact firmly take him by the arm and moving him onto the porch where his father was waiting, indicating that Camille should follow.

“Mum,” he started carefully. “Exactly how much meddling have you been doing?”

“There is nothing wrong with a mother providing her child with a little encouragement,” She replied succinctly. “Isn’t that right Madam Bordey?”

Catherine, who was setting down the tea on the table, looked up and replied, “Sometimes I would say it is even necessary.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille narrowed her eyes at her mother’s response, had everyone been plotting behind their backs? Did they think them so pathetically useless they wouldn’t have gotten there on their own? She couldn’t be too angry though, generally she was very pleased with the results. She sat down opposite the Duke and Duchess, and felt a sudden spike of fear at the serious looks on their faces.

“All set to leave this afternoon?” Richard asked to break the silence.

“Yes, though I fear your mother has stuffed so much tourist tat in her case it’ll be overweight,” his father replied in a long-suffering tone, one that reminded her so much of Richard that Camille relaxed without meaning to.

“It’ll be _fine_ ,” The Duchess tried to reassure him, but the look she received indicated her husband was not convinced. “You could just put some of it in your case!”

“I don’t want my good suits smelling like the hundreds of bottles of perfume oil and soaps you have deemed it necessary to drag back to the UK!”

“Well then why don’t you take the necklaces I bought for _your_ cousins?” the Duchess countered.

Since the…debate…between the two didn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, Camille stole a look at Richard who was staring at his parents with a look of mild concern.

She elbowed him to get his attention, and asked quietly, “What is it?”

“Is _that_ our future?” he whispered back.

“No!” she tried to reassure him. “We won’t fight about things like _that._ ”

“We already do!” he protested, loud enough that it attracted his parent’s attention again.

“Sorry, we can sort this out a little later. Anyway, my dear, my husband and I wanted to have a word with you,” The Duchess had a serious look on her face again, and Camille’s nerves returned full force. She glanced at Richard, but he seemed as clueless as to what this little chat was to be about as she was.

The Duke cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable, “With all the pomp and circumstance that comes with being a member of the aristocracy, you might have been given the wrong impression. We wanted to assure you that times have changed. The future Queen of England has no aristocratic roots whatsoever, and the Succession to the Crown Act 2013 means that women and men now have equal rights of inheritance, and they can even marry Catholics now!”

Camille tried to hide her surprise that they weren’t allowed to marry Catholics before, and instead look suitable impressed – though she was actually feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Richard shifted a little uneasily beside her, and she wished he’d interrupt, but clearly he wasn’t going to.

“Yes, and my dear you know the Crown Princess of Denmark is an Australian! And one of the Scottish Lairds met a lovely young woman in Japan who he intends to marry, I believe,” the Duchess added brightly.

“Ok,” said Camille, really not sure how she was supposed to respond.

“Anyway, Detective Sergeant Bordey, what we’re trying to say…” The Duke trailed off, glanced at his wife to continue.

The Duchess managed to just about avoid rolling her eyes, “We have absolutely no problem with the fact you are half French.”

There was a moment of silence in which Camille found herself being stared at expectantly, beside her Richard was trying to hide his amusement by drinking tea. She was going to kill him later.

“Oh _right_!” She managed. “Well thank you. I’m glad to hear everyone is so, um, accepting.”

“Well as long as you know, my dear. I’m afraid we really must dash now!” The Duchess said, rising from the table. Richard went around to kiss his Mother, and Camille felt emboldened enough to do the same. Since she’d already frightened the Duke half to death once this trip, she just shook his hand.

“Do you want me to come to the airport with you?” Richard asked.

“Oh no, darling, we are quite capable of seeing ourselves off. You stay here and enjoy your weekend!” The Duchess sounded upbeat, but Camille could see the woman was starting to tear up a little. Her husband placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and they waved the two of them off as they headed back to the hotel to collect cases.

As soon as they were out of sight, Camille set back down on the chair heavily.

“You alright?” Richard asked, actually looking concerned.

“That was _so_ not the direction I thought that conversation was going in,” she confessed.

“What did you think they were talking about?” he asked, and she was amazed he couldn’t guess.

“Well I don’t exactly look like other members of your aristocracy!” She said, indicating her curly hair and skin colour.

“Oh _that_ would never have been a problem,” he told her dismissively. “Being half French, now that is an issue!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to katedf – I had always planned to finish Sucession this way, but we seem to live in each other’s brains and she “scooped” me to using that joke in “Not Back By Friday” but gave me permission to keep it in!


End file.
